


Love in a Braid

by Moria



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff without Plot, Hair Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moria/pseuds/Moria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amras marvels at Nellas's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in a Braid

**Author's Note:**

> For the "body kink" square. A short glimpse into the canonical elven love for their hair.

He never fully understood the obsession of the elves for their own hair until he watched his wife bathing. Sitting before him in their bathing tub, she raised a pitched over her head, the water running down and through her long thick hair. When it wasn’t wet it was thick and wavy, but now it traced her curvy form. Amras tried to look away, amazed by his body’s sudden response to her, before reminding himself that Nellas was his wife; it was okay for him to look, especially when she deemed it so. 

A thought struck him, and he swam the short distance to her, kissing her shoulders. 

“May I?” he asked in her ear, and she nodded, receiving another kiss from him. 

“I used to see my father do this a lot with my mother,” he said as he sectioned a part of her hair, using his right stump to keep it away from the others. This arm, as was his leg and part of his ear and face, was marred from the fire in the ship he slept in. It meant his ability to hunt was affected, though through the years of living with Nellas he had relearned how to hunt with one hand. 

When he had sectioned Nellas’s hair into three parts, he began his braid, recalling how Fëanor braided Nerdanel’s hair. They always spoke in whispers, affection to be shared between them. At times their roles were reversed. His brother Maglor had done with the same with Gildor, and Curufin with Lalinyë, and Caranthir with Rilteithril, all drawn to one another’s hair. He wondered if they too marveled at the strange attraction which seemed ingrained in all of the elves. 

“Your hair is so thick,” Amras sighed contently, massaging her scalp till she gave a pleasurable shiver. He leaned forward to take in her scent, noting the fragrance of oils used by her people, and of her own unique scent, already so engraved in his mind, which invoked the thought _my eternal beloved, my wife_ in his mind. 

“This might not be the best braid an elf had has ever done.” His tone was apologetic as he critiqued his work, nothing like the perfect braids his father or brothers would so skillfully weave around their spouse’s hair. He could, with careful effort, do only one, a single thick braid, messy as he was doing this single-handedly. 

“It’s perfect,” Nellas said. “It’s not the how it will look in the end, but the love you feel with each step.” 

Amras grinned. “I hope you can feel my love, then, my fingers parting your hair, caressing your roots, taking in your scent. I would bury my hair into your mane if I wasn’t doing this right now.” 

Nellas shivered again, leaning closer into him. The cleft of her buttocks brushed against his erection, and the two let out tiny gasps before chuckling shyly. She leaned closer still, allowing this moment to turn far more intimate than both had initially planned. He had reached the end, pushing the braid over her shoulder so she may clasp it, studying his work as he rested his head into her thick hair, his hand still caressing her. 

“I wonder if each type of braid means something,” Amras whispered into her ear. “One braid to mean, ‘I care for you,’ another to say, ‘we will unite in body tonight’ or perhaps ‘I forgive you.’” 

“And what does your braid symbolize?” Nellas asked, stroking her braid with an affection reflexed in the mirror on the wall. Amras, studying her smile in the reflection and his own scarred face behind her, caressed the side of her head down her shoulder and over one breast. 

“That, though young and imperfect and my history stained with war, my love for you is unconditional and pure.”


End file.
